Chasing the Lion

by Nancy Kimball

  He caught few words of the low tones, but among them were illegitimate peasant, disgrace, and no cause for celebration.

  The senator stiffened. “I want to see him when he returns.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Apologies my son Manius was not here to greet you both, Liv,” the senator said. “He was raised without a mother, but that’s no excuse for ignoble behavior.”

  His mother smiled, but her face remained drawn. Perhaps she’d heard the servant as well.

  “Jonathan and I look forward to meeting him to thank him for sharing his home with us. Now please, go on.” She pressed Jonathan forward.

  The senator seemed pleased by the answer. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it and turned his gaze to Jonathan. “Come with me.”

  The senator led him through a hall with plaster walls the color of honeycomb that ended at the edge of a great garden. Jonathan passed from the shade of the roof into warm sunlight and stopped. Flowers bloomed everywhere, in more colors than he could count. Hedges shaped like crates surrounded the statues standing guard over the biggest fountain he’d ever seen.

  The top tier stood as tall as the house. Jonathan approached and was startled by movement below the surface. Were those fish? Orange and white fish, some as big as his foot, swam to the rim as he stared at them. “Your fountain has fish in it.”

  The senator came and stood beside him. “It’s your fountain too, as are the fish. This is your home now, Jonathan.”

  Jonathan met the man’s gaze. There was something in his expression that told Jonathan not to be afraid.

  “Come sit with me.”

  Jonathan followed him to a bench farther down the pebbled path, and sat as far from him on the marble seat as he could. He glanced sideways, surprised to find the man studying him. Again he wanted to know what the senator was thinking, but retreated to a safer question. “What’s your name?”

  The senator chuckled, and Jonathan feared he’d insulted him, until he sighed. “Forgive me. It’s a good question, but as a praetor of Rome, both a judge and senator, not one I’ve been asked in many years.” He grasped his toga at his shoulder and straightened. “Poetelius Tarquinius Cornelius.”

  That was long and sounded important. Jonathan doubted he should use ‘my lord’ if his mother wasn’t supposed to. “What am I to call you?”

  “Father.”

  Jonathan flinched.

  The senator must have seen, because his expression fell.

  Jonathan could hear himself say the word in his head but couldn’t bring his lips to form it. This stranger was his father. Father. For so long, the simple word marked an unexplained absence. The source of the taunts he’d endured for years until sheer repetition hardened him against much of the sting. Before he could call this man father, he must know why.

  He met the man’s eyes and forced himself not to look away. “A woman said to my mother once that—that I should never have been born. My mother cried for a long time.” His voice shook, and his vision blurred from unshed tears, but he could not stop now. Not when an answer was within his grasp at last. “Why did she keep me a secret from you?” He swallowed. “Unless it’s true?”

  Jonathan closed his eyes, waiting for the answer yet feeling like he dangled from the edge of a great precipice. The longer the silence stretched, the more his dread grew. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes in time to see his father speak.

  “Never let the thoughtless words of another make you doubt your own worth. You are my son. When the documents are finished, you will carry not only my noble blood, but the Tarquinius name as well. I didn’t know, or I would have claimed you at your first breath. Your mother’s reasons for keeping you from me were unjustified, but they were rooted in love for you. A love I now share.”

  Jonathan didn’t understand the sensation washing over him. A rift in his spirit began to close with the healing words of his father. He’d wanted him then. He wanted him now. The hand on his shoulder became an embrace. Tears fell unhindered as a lifetime of insecurity crumbled within the arms of his father. The missing pillar of his lost identity rose from the bottom of his soul, erasing every scar from every errant taunt and pitiful glance he had ever endured. He summoned his voice from beneath the unabashed emotion pouring forth to form a single, whispered word. “Father.”

  Jonathan learned much in the garden. The history of their family, what a praetor does, and how his father’s first stag hunt at his age resulted in a broken bow and a wounded servant. His father asked many questions, much about Jonathan’s own history, but Jonathan would give the briefest explanation possible and then ask another question of his own. Listening was better than having to speak.

  When Jonathan’s father eventually led him into a chamber within the house, the air there smelled so good Jonathan wanted to lick it. Cheese, bread so fresh the crust still steamed, and what smelled like a stew from the rich aroma of savory meat lay waiting on a table surrounded by a three-sided dining couch. He’d never seen so much food in one place that wasn’t for sale.

  “Recline beside me.” His father adjusted his toga and nodded to a servant Jonathan hadn’t seen until then standing in the corner. The plush cushion felt strange under his side. He’d always sat on the floor or a stool to eat, and he feared spilling anything on the intricately woven fabric.

  His mother entered, leaning heavily on the head servant’s arm.

  “Mother?”

  “Livia?” his father said at the same time as they both stood.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, raising her palm to them. “I’m fine.”

  She settled near him, and a servant brought a bowl for them to wash their fingers in. Her breathing seemed even, and when she smiled, they both returned to their cushions. Jonathan watched his father to be able to repeat everything he did, including the odd way he held his cup with only his fingertips. The cups were bronze, not clay, and the wine inside them was the best he’d ever tasted.

  The servants brought their bowls of stew, and his father took the first bite. Jonathan cringed, unsure now of what to do. His mother grasped his hand below the table, and bowed her head for a moment. Jonathan did the same, and for the first time, she didn’t pray aloud. After a moment she squeezed his hand and flashed him the slightest of grins before picking up her spoon.

  “Are you finding everything to your liking, Liv?” his father asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” She brought the spoon to her mouth laden with broth but hesitated. “Are you?”

  His father looked at him, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as a side of his mouth lifted. “Very much.”

  The scrutiny made Jonathan uncomfortable, and he fished a chunk of meat from his bowl and ate. The flavor as he chewed made him grateful he’d never known what he was missing. His mother and father spoke throughout the meal, but Jonathan hardly heard them. Food this good deserved his full attention. He wished Deborah could have had some, or the boys from yesterday had been here to see his father and this house.

  Jonathan waited for an opportunity to ask his father a question. After those in the garden, this one would be easy. “Do you have horses?”

  “Jonathan,” his mother said sharply.

  “It’s all right, Liv.” His father turned toward him. “I do. Would you like to ride in the chariot this afternoon?”

  “I’ve never ridden in a chariot before. My mother says I was almost run down by one before I was born.”

  “Well I’m grateful to the gods you both were not. Perhaps your mother will join us. She has always had a way with horses.”

  “What do you mean? We’ve never had horses.”

  “Cornelius, you and Jonathan go. I would like to remain here and rest if you’ll permit me.” His mother spoke so fast, Jonathan knew the coughing was about to seize her. She covered her mouth with her fist and tucked her head as the violent rasps shook her. She already had a cup of wine, so there was nothing more he could do for her though he wishe
d more than anything there was.

  “She’ll be all right in a moment,” he assured his father.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Since last summer, but it worsened a few weeks ago.”

  His mother looked up, her eyes glistening with tears from her spell. “Please don’t talk about me as—” She pressed her hand to her chest. “As if I’m not here.”

  “My physician is slated to come tomorrow afternoon. I want him to see you, and Jonathan also.”

  Why him too? He wasn’t sick. And visiting a physician was expensive. Deborah and his mother had sewn extra tunics and blankets by lamplight for weeks to pay for his mother to be able to go to one.

  “I’ve already seen a physician,” she said.

  “You haven’t seen mine. I insist. Now then, Dionysius?”

  The head servant appeared from around the corner of the doorway as if he’d been there the whole time.

  “Ready my chariot and have the cooks prepare full courses this evening. Salad, sardines and mackerel, oysters if we have them, and pheasant. Second tables can be honey sweetened cakes, figs, and Chian wine. If my son—oldest son—arrives, send him to my study and inform him if he wishes to receive his allowance next month, he’ll remain there until I’ve seen him.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  His father’s other son was sounding more and more like the boys in the alley.

  The servant left and Jonathan’s mother held his hand under the table again. “Please don’t allow our presence to burden your son. We could take our meals in my chamber or with the servants.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve made allowances for too many years because I was not the father I should have been after my wife died. By the time I was, he was already grown.” His gaze fell on Jonathan. “Which is why I’m grateful for another opportunity.”

  Jonathan stared down at his lap, afraid the heat in his cheeks would show. If his father expected more from him than he could deliver, he would never be able to bear disappointing him. They ate in silence then, his mother and father exchanging smiles often.

  When Dionysius appeared in the doorway, his tunic was less crisp than this morning, with a streak of dirt at the hem near his knee. For some reason, that made Jonathan happy. “Your chariot is ready, my lord.”

  His father rose, and Jonathan stood and helped his mother to her feet.

  “Allow me.” His father held his elbow out to her and she squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder before letting go and taking his father’s arm. Jonathan walked with them to the front of the house, enjoying the way his mother and father looked side by side.

  Outside a servant restrained a pair of black stallions. The gleaming animals snorted and pranced in their leather harnesses. Silver embellishments on the straps matched those on the chariot case. Even the wheels were accented in silver atop the bronze overlay of their spokes.

  Jonathan trotted ahead to pet them. Their short hair felt smooth and warm, but they were much bigger than he’d thought up close. Perhaps he wouldn’t wish to ride astride one after all.

  “Jonathan.”

  He turned and ran back to his mother, who released his father and hugged Jonathan close.

  “Obey your father. Be safe, as always.” She released him and cupped his cheek.

  “Yes, Mother.” Jonathan wished she wouldn’t treat him like a baby in front of his father. How was he going to earn the man’s respect that way?

  She let her hand fall back to her side. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” he mumbled under his breath and ran for the horses again.

  He looked back, and his father was saying something to his mother. He was too far away to hear what, but whatever it was made her smile. She liked being here. Even if the other son turned out to be like the boys in the alley, he would endure it without complaint.

  His father made his way to the chariot and motioned for Jonathan to join him. Jonathan stepped up to the platform, clung fast to the bronze rail and planted his feet on the wide wooden planks. A servant passed his father the long leather ropes that would guide the horses.

  His father grinned down at him. “Ready?”

  More than he could say. Jonathan nodded, and his father snapped the leathers. The chariot rumbled forward and rocked Jonathan’s balance. Even so, he clung to the rail with one hand and waved back at his mother with the other until she disappeared behind the stone wall. Rocking about was already making him dizzy, and he hoped he wouldn’t vomit the best meal he’d ever had all over his father’s chariot.

  People on the street made way for them, several calling greetings to his father. One man with dark hair and a brilliant blue tunic beneath a milk-white toga stopped in the street and stared at them. His arms moved but instead of waving, he crossed them and his expression turned angry.

  “Who is that?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he regretted it.

  His father slowed the chariot, watching the man as they passed. “Soon you will know.”

  They passed the man, but when Jonathan looked back, he’d turned to watch them as the gap between them grew.

  “Jonathan.” His father’s somber expression softened. “Let us vow to one another as men to leave all that concerns us here in the city for now. To consume this time as if it were the finest vintage and make of it a memory worthy of carrying to the afterlife. Agreed?”

  As men. Jonathan’s chest expanded. He didn’t know how to set aside worrying about his mother, his father’s other son, or the strange man. But he would not disappoint his father. “Agreed.”

  At the city gate, Jonathan learned he was wrong. He’d never been outside the city walls before. The rolling hills speckled with vineyards and the fields of waist-high grasses on either side of the stone highway were as overwhelming as the stream of ox-drawn carts and clusters of travelers streaming into the city.

  “Today we make our own road,” his father said, and turned the pair of black stallions sharply to the right. The grass made a distinct swish and crunch as the horses trampled it that mingled with the creaking of the wheels on either side of the chariot. “Hold fast.”

  Jonathan gripped the rail tighter and his father snapped the leather ropes. The horses snorted and surged forward. Jonathan’s body jerked back as if a boy from the alley had grabbed him from behind. His arms locked as he clung to the rail, the wind blew in his face so much he could hardly keep his eyes open. For the span of a breath, he wanted to shout for his father to slow down. Until he glanced up and saw his father’s face. His father.

  He straightened as best he could and turned full into the wind. His knuckles ached from his grip on the bronze rail, now warm from his hold. The horses pounded across the expanse of grasses and trees, sweat gathering on Jonathan’s back even as the wind drove it from his forehead. He wasn’t aware when he lost his fear. Only that he had when a wheel hit something that jarred them both into the rail and each other. Instead of cringing and wanting to slow down, Jonathan felt a thrill run from his feet to his hands. The same one he saw in his father when he turned to him and smiled.

  His father slowed the horses then, and when they came to a stop, Jonathan was breathing almost as hard as they were. His father looked down at him, his charcoal and ash hair rumpled like his toga. “You were afraid but you did not bend to your fear. You remained strong until the fear bent to you.”

  The respect in his father’s voice was something Jonathan wanted to drink of for a lifetime. He didn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything.

  His father clasped his shoulder, grinned, and turned back to the horses. “Your mother will be furious.”

  Jonathan laughed because it was true, letting go of the rail with one hand to clutch the pinch in his side.

  His father snapped the leather ropes and the horses raised their heads to walk forward. They settled into a steady pace that felt much like a crawl compared to their speed only moments ago. “Her happiness means much to me but preparing you for life as a Tarquinius
means even more.”

  “She will understand.”

  His father laughed then and raised a brow as he tilted his chin toward Jonathan. He slapped the leather again to lift the horses into a jog. “I’m sure she would. But I don’t plan to tell her we galloped over the countryside on your first chariot ride.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not that brave.”

  Stunned, Jonathan cast a sideways glance at his father, keeping his expression neutral. Until his father winked at him and began to laugh again.

  Back at the villa, no servant waited to greet them inside the gates. His father frowned and Jonathan followed his gaze. Another horse stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the open front doors. The horse dripped with foamy sweat from its ears back to the empty saddle on its back. Dionysius emerged at a dead run and skidded to a stop halfway down the steps.

  His father stopped the chariot, but didn’t move. He stared at the servant and the servant stared back before the man on the steps turned to look straight at Jonathan. He’d seen enough pity on the faces of others to know it instantly—but for what?

  And then he knew.

  He jumped from the chariot and ran toward the open door. He climbed the steps and raced through the room with the fountain. A servant emerged from a doorway ahead and he flew toward it—toward the voices inside it. God, please. I beg You. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop. People stood all around them but he couldn’t take his eyes from his mother.

  She lay on a couch with her eyes closed. He crept toward her. “Mother?”

  She didn’t move. No one did. He knelt beside her and took her hand. The chill of her skin was like a slap. No. Please no. He blinked the tears back as he squeezed her hand and watched her face. Nothing. She would never open her eyes again.

  “I told you the gods would never allow this,” a voice said.

  Jonathan turned in the direction the voice had come and met the hard glare of the man from the street—with the blue tunic and white toga. It wasn’t what he’d said that scared Jonathan. It was the man’s ears. They stuck out too far—from a face that looked like his.